Good Friends Are Like Stars...

...you don't always see them, but you know they are always there. -- Confucius

We went up to Massachusetts to spend Thanksgiving with my family this year. While there, I decided to help my parents by clearing out some of my old junk--stuff that's been cluttering up their space for the twenty years that they've lived in the house. The two nightstand drawers in my old room were crammed with letters from the late eighties and early nineties--these were my college years when I would go back home over school breaks and summer vacations.

I've been going through the letters slowly, trying to decipher my friends' almost-illegible scrawl. My goal was to throw out most of the letters, but yet keep a representative sample that would sum up the place and time, as well as each friend's individual personality.

A large proportion of the letters were from my freshman year at college. I guess this is because my old high school friends and I had yet to form any close friendships with kids at college, so we were, understandably, clinging to our former lives. 

Summer of '88: Me and a few friends, back together
 after our freshman year of college.

As I read through the letters, I wasn't surprised by all the mentions of cute boys, classes, partying, and roommates (whom ranged from awesome to awful). But what did surprise me, what I wasn't expecting to read, was so much written about our friendships with one another--what we missed, what we meant to each other, how close our bonds were, etc. We were surprisingly introspective young women considering we were just out of high school. 

For example, here's what one friend wrote to me in September, 1987, just after we'd gone our separate ways to different colleges thousands of miles apart:

"My problem is I meet a lot of people but have no close friends. I wish in a way you and our other friends were with me. Though we'd all be trying to break away from each other, we'd still have each other there.... I miss you, Sue! I talk about you a lot. It's so weird to be starting new again! I like it, but there are certain security things I miss, like our group."

That is pretty self-aware for an eighteen year old, if you ask me. 

In another letter, a different friend wrote:

"Sue, I really miss you and I know it sounds dumb but I really wish that you were here because you truly have been so strong for me on so many occasions. You are truly my best friend (a term I no longer use so lightly!) and I don't know how come I deserve you sometimes."

I love you, crazy girls.

Twenty years later, I'm blown away by the level of intimacy in these letters. I'm sure at the time I didn't think much of it; it would've just been how things were, how we felt about one another, and the way we communicated and responded to each other. But because I'm so far away from that time, and my focus is on family rather than friendships, it just seems so, so remarkable that we felt that strongly and deeply about each other.

I still love these ladies, though we remain geographically isolated from one another. I miss having them in my life on a regular basis, but even more, I miss having a gang of cool, smart, interesting, and fun women around to whom I can talk, vent, and bitch, and who also completely have my back. My husband and family are wonderful and supportive of course, but it's not the same.  

So if any of you lovely ladies--my dearest friends from childhood and beyond--are reading this, I just want to thank you for all the love, laughs, hugs, support, and advice you've given me over the years.

I couldn't have made it through without you. And I miss you so much it hurts.

What I Need's a Little Patience

Here it is, new Year's Eve, and we're home because we flaked on getting a babysitter. But that's okay...because it's not like we had anywhere to go anyway. Do people have NYE parties anymore? Not in our town, apparently. Without an invitation to a local party, our other choices were: go out in White Plains (ugh) or schlep into Manhattan to fight for bar space with all the other amateurs. No thanks. I've always preferred to do my partying on less obvious occasions (St. Patrick's Day is another night I've tended to stay home).

So I'm here at home, going over the past year, thinking about how I'd like the coming year to be  different. My New Year's resolution: What will it be this year? Did I even make one last year? I don't think so...I may have resolved never to make another resolution again. After all, they tend to be given up or forgotten by Groundhog Day anyway, so what's the point?

Or maybe I resolved to be more patient--with my kids, my husband, in general. Impatience is one of my worst flaws, so I often find myself taking deep breaths and trying to cool down. Self-improvement is a good thing; an extra instance of resolving to be a better person certainly can't hurt. But the problem is that I, like everyone else, tend to forget about it and continue with my impatient ways.

When I was younger, however, things were different. I got a rush out of making a New Year's resolution because I truly believed that if a person made one and was serious about it, it would happen--sort of like a birthday wish. Back in those days, I probably resolved to try harder at soccer or practice my clarinet more. Later on, it was always eat less junk food, exercise more, lose ten pounds: superficial stuff.

This year, I suppose I'll try for patience again. Mainly, I'll just be waiting for this nonsense to pass, because it comes down to this: New Year's resolutions mean the gym is going to be really crowded for the next month. And I hate having to wait for a treadmill while some out-of-shape person flails away on it.

To deal with that, I'm going to have to be more patient.